Breakfast
by CretianStar
Summary: Breakfast with Molly's habits. Major Sherlolly with major smuttiness... Complete
1. Full English

A/N: This came to me while I was making breakfast, dancing around the kitchen. Enjoy this little Sherlolly fluff.

Please leave a review for whether I should continue this!

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Molly Hooper was now used to the insufferable object of her affections living with her. So she never screamed anymore if he interrupted her dancing along to her music while she cooked. She just ignored him while Sherlock petulantly demanded breakfast, and not just any breakfast oh no. Each drop of honey had to be from a rare type of bee, nothing mixed, every egg must come from a farm in Devon and God forbid if the beans were the cheap version that her minimal salary just covered.

At first Molly had pandered to Sherlock's needs, but with a rapidly diminishing budget, an increasing headache and an irritation Sherlock didn't think simple Molly Hooper was capable of, they came to blows. Sherlock had actually been stunned into silence when she screamed at him, she'd thrown a squeezy plastic bottle of honey at his forehead then stormed out.

That was months ago and now thy lived in relative harmony, with compromises on both Sherlock's and Molly's behalf. He still expected breakfast but with what she could afford, not what he demanded.

"You listen to some rubbish Molly." Sherlock turned down One Direction and sat at the breakfast bar.

"It's better than listening to a violin at two in the morning." She pulled the frying pan out and cracked a couple of eggs into a mug.

"I was bored."

"I was tired." She retorted before setting the bacon frying on the grill. "Sherlock can you get the dishes and cutlery please." She turned the music back and continued to dance. Sherlock snorted, she really was a sight; oversized t-shirt barely covered the shorts she wore to bed, leaving her legs bare to anyone who wanted to stare. Sherlock only stared for scientific purposes of course.

Only for scientific purposes...He reminded his errant brain as the shirt lifted a little as she moved.


	2. Pancakes

A/N: Okay it's been a brilliant Sherlock filled day so I added a little bit! Review if you want the smuttiness and I will add a third chapter... yes this is blackmail.

Sherlock would appreciate it. Jim certainly would!

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Sherlock was still immersed in his science, he had to be well versed in order to bring down every thread of Moriarty's web, no end was allowed to remain loose.

But he still loved breakfast when Molly cooked. He was used to grabbing something on the go, something John used to force under his nose, or even on occasion Mrs Hudson's impeccable creations but Molly's breakfasts won hands down.

Even when it was just a bowl of cereal.

His eyes trained on the microscope, Sherlock refused to see her bare legs in those damn tiny cotton shorts again. He'd been living with her for nearly six months now and the summer warmth had pushed her into wearing cotton vests for bed. His sarcasm didn't bother her anymore and she continued to hum to the radio, Daft Punk or some other modern nonsense. Just because it was stored didn't mean he enjoyed the barrage of abuse on his eardrums.

It did have the benefit of momentarily distracting Sherlock until Molly started singing as she flipped the pancakes. Sherlock was memorised by her swaying hips as she sang along, she ridiculously off key but the lyrics stirred mental triggers, 'we're up all night to get lucky.' He quickly went back to microscope, not even daring to look up when she slipped a plate of pancakes next to him, honey within reach and a bowl of fruit.

She just tutted as he muttered a thank-you, his eyes trained on the scope, not seeing the cells magnified in the view finder. He'd never been out of his depth before, but spending an increasing time with Doctor Hooper woke some sort of primal urges within him.

Maybe that's what it felt like to be an average person.

Dear God it was awful, a dangerous mix of various hormones, pheromones and chemicals, all rocketing around in his drug damaged system. Sherlock felt wildly out of control.

Even more so when she plunked herself down opposite, dragged the microscope from his eye, and she giggled.

That damn giggle that sent blood coursing south.

"Sherlock, you have stared at that thing for too long, you've got a circle around your eye." She snickered and handed him her compact mirror. Indeed there was a ring from where he had pressed his eye too deeply while fiercely concentrating on anything but Molly. "You need to eat Sherlock." She snorted and pushed the fruit bowl towards him.

Sherlock just eyed her as she carried on humming the song that was now finished; Molly had cared at first when Sherlock started to stay, she was already made up and ready when she came out of her bedroom. Only now she sat in front of him, dishevelled with bed hair, tank top slightly askew, no make-up, shorts ridden up her legs.

It drove Sherlock insane.

It made him tic, it made his foot tap, it made his fingers flick on the table and to tap the fork against the china of the plate.

"SHERLOCK!" She snapped and stopped the fork with her own hand. "I'm getting in the shower and going out for the day." She stood up and stretched. The tank top rode up her stomach again and Sherlock's eyes snapped to her face as she ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip at the same time.

"Stop doing that." He gritted his teeth and watched her turn to him in surprise.

"What are you on about Sherlock?" She raised an eyebrow. He was in front of her in three steps and staring down at her with an unreadable look in his eyes, she was startled by his closeness. She could smell his cologne still and the slightly bed-worn smell that everyone wakes up with. She could smell the honey and the blueberries on his lips and she took an unconscious deep breath.

Sherlock watched her pupils dilate and her breathing quicken, he smiled slightly, until she nibbled her bottom lip.

"Stop doing that." He growled and stepped forward again, she stepped back until she was backed up into the wall.

"Stop what Sherlock?" She whispered as his head bent closer to hers. She sucked her bottom lip slightly as apprehension intermingled with lust flooded her system. She saw Sherlock take a deep breath and close his eyes, when they opened again they were zoned in on her lips.

"Molly." He whispered.


	3. Forget Food

A/N: Okay much longer than the last two but I really enjoyed finishing this chapter so it just kind of grew! I also think they're a little OOC towards the end, please drop me a review on what you think. Anyway a fairly smutty chapter so please enjoy and I will beg of you to review because you know, they make me giggle and I LOVE THEM!

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"_Molly." He whispered. _

"Sherlock. What are you doing?" Molly licked her bottom lip, she was barely aware of his hands until they were coasting up to her waist.

"Please stop biting your lip Molly, I cannot handle it." Sherlock ground out as he felt a tell-tale blush heating his cheeks. He averted his eyes back to her lips and she nibbled on them anxiously. "Please Molly I cannot take anymore."

Sherlock Holmes was begging.

That didn't happen. Molly felt a spark deep inside her ignite – and a brainwave hit her; Sherlock Holmes was under her control, all thanks to a simple action as lip biting. She was drawn back to the present as his hands grabbed at her hips again. She often sucked on her bottom lip when she was thinking, and the _lust_ that shone through Sherlock's eyes made her weak at the knees.

Without thinking, warning or anything similar Sherlock pressed his lips to hers, relishing the gasp that slipped from her mouth while he devoured her. She moaned, her fingers automatically tangling themselves in her hair. He tasted so sweet and suddenly she was craving more, it appeared that Sherlock had similar thoughts as his arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her into him, onto her tiptoes.

"Sherlock." She gasped as he pressed her back into the wall and he moaned as his fingers trailed to her sleep wear.

"This needs to come off." He purred, the husk in his voice sending shivers to her toes, Molly mutely nodded, lifting her arms as Sherlock tugged the vest top off. It dawned on Molly that she was topless, chest bare for all and sundry to see and Sherlock was staring intently at her breasts. The embarrassment hit her like a tsunami and she scrabbled to cover herself.

"No." He growled and pulled her hands away from her chest despite her protests. "You look gorgeous Molly." Sherlock said and Molly had to stop and pinch herself. This wasn't a dream and Sherlock really had complimented her…about her breasts for gods sakes.

Sherlock seemed to notice her thoughts were no longer directed at their predicament in a positive way – she was allowing her brain to do the talking and rational thought was intervening. Now normally Sherlock was rational thought personified, but right now he wanted a heady mixture of hormones, pheromones and lust. His lips pressed to her collarbone and she whimpered as his touch ghosted along her exposed chest before pulling her in closer to him.

Her breasts rubbed at the silk of his dressing gown, feeling the pyjama top underneath and hesitantly her hands latched around his back. Molly whined as she felt the muscles, taut, beneath her touch. He felt like an animal ready to break loose, or a coil, all set to unleash force on her.

His kisses were peppering her neck and Molly actually felt her mind puddle in the base of her skull as his fingers cupped her breasts, dancing over the oh-so-sensitive skin.

"Sherlock." She gasped and reluctantly he pulled away to see a gasping, blushing, aching Molly Hooper, staring at him with eyes that were begging him for release.

"I think the kitchen table is a bit too much even for me." He whispered, feeling more heat flare over her cheeks as she blushed once again. But the apparently calm, cool and collected Sherlock Holmes was actually as much of a mess as Molly was. He was just better at hiding things. As their intimate moments would progress, Molly would learn to recognise his gives; when he needed her to kiss him, when he was desperate to be inside of her and most importantly when he was ready to explode in a fit that could rival the big bang as he whined her name. But for now, Dr Molly Hooper was too far, ecstatically gone to give a damn where Sherlock took her. Though, she would later thank Sherlock for taking her to a bed to merrily fuck her brains out the first time round.

They collapsed on the messy bed-sheets in a tangle of limbs and clothing. Sherlock's numerous layers to be exact – dressing gown, pyjama top, pyjama bottoms, boxers, bed socks.

"It's the hottest July on record and you are wearing bed socks!" Molly teased as he yanked them off, however Sherlock silenced any giggles or mocking words as he bit at her throat, soothing the skin with soft kisses that left Molly gasping his name.

Molly couldn't exactly pinpoint when Sherlock was naked or if he asked her if she was ready, which she most certainly was, but she did remember the exquisite pleasure of feeling him stretch her. Her fingers knotted into his curly dark hair and she huffed breaths into the joint of his shoulder and neck, occasionally biting if she was going to scream.

"Scream for me Molly." Sherlock whispered in her ear and she abandoned all attempts at being lady like and not being too noisy for the neighbours and let the whole damn world know that Sherlock Holmes was pounding her into the mattress.

It felt over all too quickly, and Sherlock was rolling off of her, but not leaving the bed, and gasping for oxygen. She was fairly sure he was murmuring the lines of '_Oh my fucking God_' to himself as well but Molly had no energy to call him up on it. Instead she, somewhat nervously, draped an arm over his bare chest and rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed.

Sherlock turned his head, feeling utterly drained, at the press of Molly's head against his skin. Even now, after he exerted every bit of spare energy he had into satisfying her and himself, he wanted her again. She was a bigger addictive than heroin or cocaine had ever been – she was already deeply lodged in his veins, particularly the ones around his heart.

He kissed her on the top of the forehead, science and rationality be damned, hiding out with Molly Hooper had made him emotional.

"Sweet dreams Molly."

"Mm'nightSherlock." He heard her mumbled reply and he smirked down at her, though he became vaguely concerned when her eyes opened suddenly. "I screamed your name." She said staring at him.

"That was a very memorable and consistent part of our little adventure, yes Dr Hooper." He said with a smug smile.

"But I have neighbours, what if there are spies…" She drew out and watched slightly annoyed as he chuckled, even if the sound made her want to ride him for the next four hours until he screamed for mercy.

"Well Dr Hooper." He purred and pulled her back into his chest, an arm locking around her waist to hold her in place. "If anyone asks, you will simply have to tell them you have a brand new toy, a toy that was somewhat better than expected." He closed his eyes, Sherlock buried his nose into her hair, waiting for his words to sink in.

She spluttered and stammered and gabbled before turning round to face him.

"You want me to pretend I got myself off, screaming your name!" He cracked open one eye to see her outraged face.

"It's not like it hasn't before." He closed his eyes again, the smile still plastered across his face. But before she could say another, gobsmacked word, he pulled her now stiff, unyielding form to his. "Molly Hooper, can we have this conversation in four hours and thirty four minutes, you have significantly depleted my energy levels and thoroughly exhausted me. When we wake we can either have an argument or a little more fun." He heard her huff but he also knew she was smiling, and she sounded defeat as she curled up back into his frame.

"I never had you down a spooning kind of guy." She murmured into the pillow, her body encased in his form.

"I'm more the forking type." He grinned.


End file.
